I sat at my desk in my 6th-grade classroom, my anxiety mounting. I counted down the minutes until the big hand on the clock above the chalkboard finally reached noon. As my classmates emptied out of the room, headed to the cafeteria for lunch, my palms got cold and clammy, and I felt a growing sense of panic. I had to use the bathroom, but the prospect of entering a …

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I became a self-involved status and achievement “junkie” in order to tune out unbearable inner voices that repeated, “You are worthless … you’re a fraud … you’re a failure.” I was obsessed with grandiosity: I owned a penthouse apartment with a landscaped terrace, a closet full of Brooks Brothers suits, a family crest ring, engraved stationery from Tiffany & Co., monogrammed dress shirts from Charvet in Paris, and towels from …

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